Seriously?
by clair beaubien
Summary: Now up Ch 3: John's POV. Pre-Series
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Chicago was a blast! Ask me about Misha & the Pringles can.

* * *

Sam hadn't realized how much he'd missed Dean, or how happy he'd be to see him again. It'd been a couple of months nearly since Dean had brought him out to Stanford and helped him get settled into his dorm. The days had blurred after that, with classes and books , having to find his way around campus and getting used to being around all the same people in all the same places all the damn time. He'd hardly had time to miss Dean.

Then, when he came out of the library Friday night, two nights ago, and saw Dean there, leaning against the car like it was his everyday routine to wait for Sam to finish studying…

"So, Sammy…you catching on here, or are they getting ready to expel your ass out?"

…it was all Sam could do to not to grab him in a hug in front of everyone and hold on until Spring.

Of course, Sam guessed that this visit was more for Dean's sake. November second was always harder for Dean than it was for Sam. And it was downright agonizing for Dad. Sam didn't blame Dean for taking some time away.

Though maybe it would've been nice to see Dad…

Yesterday, Saturday the second, Sam had walked Dean all over campus, shown him his classrooms, the library and food court and bookstore. Then Dean had driven Sam to the mall in town and bought him socks and underwear and junk food and a better pillow and anything that Sam would let him buy for him. Then he bought Sam dinner and took him to a movie and they stayed up most of the night talking about nothing.

Now though, today, Dean had to get on the road again and catch up with Dad. It was November, so the sun was going down by five o'clock when Dean dropped Sam off at his dorm after an early dinner.

"Call me if you need anything." Dean said.

"Not much I need after your little shopping spree yesterday."

"You let me know anyway."

"I will. Thanks - you know - for -."

Sam had hardly begun his thank-yous when Dean rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Isn't there a chick-flick you should be watching right now, Sammy?"

Sam grinned - apparently two months apart didn't change the fact that Dean hated Sam being grateful.

"Yeah - okay. Yeah. I'll see you."

He got out of the car, closed the door, waved once in goodbye and headed up the long sidewalk to his dorm. He was about halfway there when he realized he hadn't heard the car pull away. He turned and sure enough, there was Dean, still parked at the curb. Waiting. Sam looked closer - Dean wasn't on the phone, he wasn't getting out of the car. He was just sitting there. Waiting.

What was he waiting for? Did he forget something? Did Sam forget something?

It only took a few seconds for Sam to realize, and when he did realize, he marched back to the car and the driver's side window.

"Dude - seriously?"

"Seriously." Dean answered.

"_Seriously?"_

"Yes, Sam. _Seriously."_

He used the tone that meant Sam wouldn't win even if he stood out here all night. So he huffed and marched back to the building and up into his dorm room on the second floor.

And when he got inside he flicked on the light and went to the window, and waved down to Dean who had managed to be parked in the exact location to be able to see that Sam gotten home safe and sound.

Dean flashed his headlights that he'd seen Sam, then - and only then - did he drive away. And Sam watched the taillights down the long university road until he couldn't see them anymore.

The End.

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A/N2: I got the idea for this story today when I got home from work. My big sister happened to be driving by. She pulled in the driveway and we chatted a few minutes. When we were done, my sister stayed parked right where she was until I was inside the house and had a light turned on.

Seriously.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam pulled to a stop in front of their motel room. It was after ten o'clock at night and the neon lights of the motel bounced off the hood of the car.

"Go in and warm up and I'll grab us some dinner."

"Yeah." Dean opened the door and swung his wet, muddy feet out. "Next time you get to run into the freezing cold swamp to kill the monster."

"All right. I will. Just go in and change before you catch a cold."

Dean muttered something grouchy, pushed himself out of the car and shut the door, and took a few steps toward the motel. Sam waited , wanting Dean to be inside before he drove away. But even as his hand was on the doorknob and the key was in the lock, Dean turned back.

"You can leave anytime, dude."

"As soon as you're inside."

Out came the key from the lock, off came the hand from the doorknob, and Dean walked back to the car.

"You are _so_ not waiting for me to get inside." He said through the open driver's side window.

"Yeah, _I am_."

A couple of expressions passed over Dean's face, none of them happy.

"Seriously, I'm five feet away from the door." He said.

"So - you're six feet away from me going to get dinner."

"No. You know what? _No. _You are not sitting here watching me until I get into the room."

"Whatever." Sam said. He shrugged, then turned off the car. "I can wait." He reached over the back seat to fish his journal out of his backpack and switched on the overhead light. "I'll just make some notes on this hunt."

"Fine." Dean stepped away from the car door - and parked himself against the fender, folding his arms and studiously ignoring Sam. "Go ahead. I can wait too."

For a few minutes, there was no sound but Sam's busy pen and Dean's aggravated hmphs. Then Sam called,

"Hey Dean, the hunt tonight, would you call the darkness pitch black, or just inky?"

Dean didn't answer, didn't even look back. Another few minutes went by.

"Hey Dean? Would you describe that monster as scrofulous, or just mangy?"

That got a sharp answer out of Dean that sounded a lot like '_scrofulous this_.'

A few more minutes ticked by. Sam kept his eyes on his journal and pretended not to notice Dean turning to glare at him every once in awhile.

"Hey Dean? That boy who saw the monster - do you think he's athambian? Or eidetic?"

That got a response out of Dean. He surged to his feet and marched to the driver's side.

"_Seriously? _You are _seriously_ going to do this until I walk into that motel room?" .

"Uh - yeah." Sam told him simply. A quarter dozen shades of red and _pissed_ crossed Dean's face and he raised his hand to point his finger and aim a retort at Sam, but before he could, Sam added, "I want to know you're safe…" And if that wasn't enough to completely disarm Dean -_ "…you do it for me."_

Dean growled, but his face cleared. He pulled the motel key out of his pocket and walked back to the door. The key went back into the lock, his hand went back on the knob. He turned the key but before he turned the knob, he gave Sam a look, inclining his head and raising an eyebrow.

For a minute, Sam thought they were back to the impasse. Then he realized.

He set his journal aside, turned off the dome light, rolled up his window and started the car.

Dean opened the door then and went in.

And waited.

When Sam put the car in gear, Dean went inside, shut the door and turned on a light.

When Sam came back with dinner, Dean opened the door as soon as he pulled into the parking spot and stood there until Sam was safe inside the room.

The End


	3. Chapter 3

It'd been a bad hunt. A bad day. Bad tempers all around.

We'd been after a desert spirit today, and believe me, chasing an elusive, shimmering specter in a desolate oven of elusive, shimmering illusions doesn't do anybody's mood any good. We'd had to time the hunt to take place after a rare cloudburst, and figuring out when that might be took a lot of research and waiting, which we could do. It also took a lot of patience which all that research and waiting had used up.

And it was Mary's birthday and that was never a good day, no matter what

We finally trapped the spirit in the shadow of an outcropping, in a rapidly shrinking patch of dew in the sand, and we dispatched it fast. Now no more hikers or drivers would be tantalized into danger and death by that mobile mirage.

When that was done, we had the half mile hike back to the car in the heat, and dust, and sand, and silence.

Profound silence.

I wasn't even sure the boys knew it was Mary's birthday. We never talked about it. We sure never celebrated it. I always kept Mary in a special place in my heart, warm and remembered and loved. But special days, her birthday, the boys' birthdays, the day she died, always broke another piece of my heart off and the lingering pain trailed after me until sometimes that was all I could think or feel or deal with.

Back at the car, we broke out some more water bottles and wearily got in the car. I gave the boys a quick once over before I turned on the car and got us back on the road that led to civilization, showers, and ice cubes.

Dean was in the front seat, as usual. He was twenty now, he was so grown up and had so much of his mother in him. Spit and spine and attitude, and a love for his family that was as effortless as it was deep and eternal.

Sammy was in the back seat, he already had a book cracked open. He got that from his mother. Mary loved to read and to learn and to know. And just like Sam, she was never stuck up about it. She knew what she knew and that was it.

I didn't bother trying to think of any ways the boys were like me. Once upon a time I would've seen myself in how Dean could fix cars even better than most professionals I've met, how he just seemed to have an ear for what was wrong with a car and the natural ability to fix it just like that. And once upon a time I would've seen myself in Sammy's quiet humor and strength.

Once upon a time, but not now.

Now the only car I fixed was the Impala, and that was so we could keep going on these hunts that saved everybody's lives but our own. And the inner strength that used to be marked by gentleness was now rock hard necessity. I'd lost most of the joys in my life and probably all of the gentleness and I didn't want that for the boys. I really didn't. Yet every step I take, I take them with me, and every step they take I know scrubs a little more at their souls and their humanity until one day that will be exactly like me and I can't stand the thought of that.

It's Mary's damn birthday – I should be out with the boys buying her flowers and schmaltzy gifts, we should have dinner plans at a fancy restaurant that Sam doesn't like because he doesn't want to get dressed up, and Dean likes because it'll impress his girlfriend.

Instead we're all three stuck in a hot car in a hotter desert, heading for a drive-thru dinner and a motel room.

Sammy hates this life. He's been very honest and very vocal about that. He's sixteen, in his junior year of high school, and I've seen him inhaling college catalogs the way I used inhale car repair manuals. I try to tell him that college isn't part of this life, but he doesn't seem to hear me. I hate to break his heart. I hate to break mine because I want him to go to college, I want both my boys to have a home and a college education and a life that isn't this life. But this _is_ our lives. And Sammy hates it.

He probably hates me sometimes too because of it.

Dean has never said he hates the hunt or this life. He never complained that being a nomad kept him from being able to graduate high school. He could've graduated with honors, had his pick of colleges, a chance at a good job with good benefits and a nifty retirement package. Instead he rides shotgun in my car, listens to my music, wears my leather jacket, and does pretty much every single thing I tell him to do without ever hardly asking to be able to do anything else.

How can he not hate me sometimes?

I hate myself sometimes. Hate myself for the life I've given my boys. For the life I denied them because of it. I hate the times I'm short-tempered with them or dismissive of them or just plain away from them for days or weeks at a time. I love my boys and I hate that they must hate me.

The motel is in sight and suddenly I'm too tired to even think. Nobody has said a word the whole drive from desert to Desert Inn. I pull the car to the parking spot at the door and take out my wallet.

"Whyn't you boys go get some dinner?" I hand some money over to Dean. "I'm going to go -." I only make a vague motion to the room. I might go in and take a shower or I might go in and cry. I haven't decided yet.

"Okay." Dean says. "We'll bring it back. What d'you want?"

"I don't want anything. Just – go – get yourselves some dinner. Find a movie you want to see. Just – take a break."

_A break from me_ I think but don't say.

"Okay…" Dean says again, with a question in his voice and confusion on his face. He shoots a look back at Sammy who looks just as confused and shrugs.

I get out of the car on my side, and the boys get out of the car on their side. Dean walks around to the driver's door and Sam shuts the rear passenger door and stands at the front passenger door. I make my feet get me to the motel door and as I open the door, I give a look back to the boys, to make sure they're safe in the car and about to get on their way.

But they're standing there. They're both standing at the car with the doors still open, and they're watching me. What the hell are they waiting for?

"Go on." I tell them.

Sammy nods and says, "As soon as you're inside," and Dean across the car from him nods as well.

And they stand there, and they wait.

I could make them go. I could recite the whole litany of why them waiting to make sure I'm safe just doesn't work that way for me that runs through my mind. But I don't. These are my boys and they don't hate me and I'm not going spoil the moment for any one of us.

"Bring me back a sandwich and a newspaper." I tell them. "We'll look for a movie we can all go see."

They smile, they both smile, each with their own piece of Mary's expression. They smile and wait for me to go inside and shut the door, and they're still smiling when I look out the window to watch them drive away.

I love those boys.

The End.


End file.
